One summer I went on a road trip with my in-laws and it was way more fun than it sounds. It really was. My wife and I and our fairly newborn baby piled in the minivan with her mom and dad and we drove all around central and northern California. We visited other family, went fishing, ate great food, checked out the High Sierras, and even went to a music festival – all while mostly getting along for a week. I loved that trip.
One day my Father-in-law Martin and I decided to go on a hike since we were in these beautiful mountains. Our spouses were not interested in a hike, so they made other plans for the day. They dropped us off at the parking lot near the trailhead, and told us they’d be back in a few hours to pick us up. Off we went. Martin and I hiked a long ways that day – longer than we’d planned. Something like an 8 mile round trip. But it was worth every second. The Sierra Nevada mountains are a stunning range with gorgeous trees and creeks, waterfalls and wildlife and we were under their spell. That’s why we walked so far, we couldn’t help ourselves, we just kept moving forward compelled by the beauty around us.
By the time we got back to the parking lot we were beat. Our wives were nowhere to be seen. So we called them, and it turned out the appointment they’d made wasn’t done yet and they were 3 miles down the road and wouldn’t be ready for a while.
Martin and I looked at each other, and just started walking again. But we were no longer on the trail. We were on a sidewalk. Walking towards the wives and the minivan. Instead of creeks there were mini malls, instead of trees there were power lines and cell towers. Martin sighed, “Well I guess the hike continues.”
I shook my head emphatically and said, “No, Martin. The hike is over. Now we’re just two guys without a car.”
Intention matters. Last week I mentioned the great difference between seeking to serve people and trying to save them. In both cases you are making people your focus. Both might have you undertaking practical actions for others, and so may at first seem similar. but the approach and intention are game changers. One is led by humility and compassion, the other by a sense of superiority. Intention matters.
I remember standing on the Mountain of the Transfiguration in Israel. Well, was it the actual mountain where Jesus’ appearance was transformed into dazzling white, his face glowing with divine authority? Where Moses and Elijah showed up and he spoke with them? Someone decided it was, and they put a church and a gift shop there many many years ago, so let’s say it was. Anyway, there we all were – a couple dozen seminarians on a pilgrimage in the Holy Land – having taken a bus to the top of Mount Tabor. We gathered and we sat and we breathed and we prayed, and we worshiped. I’ve been on top of plenty of mountains where I didn’t do any of those things. But that day our group entered that space with reverence and curiosity and a hope to experience God. Intention matters.
The faithful often call holy sites Thin Places – the idea being that the separation between the mundane and sacred which can sometimes feel so thick and immutable feels thin: That in locations of repeated pilgrimage and noted spiritual experiences, the barrier between Heaven and Earth becomes transparent – or at least translucent. Thin places.
Sometimes the line between tourism and pilgrimage feels thin when you are traveling in the Holy Land. I’m thinking of another gift shop – the one that stood by the Jordan River at a booth that claimed to be the location where Jesus was baptized. It felt a little crass. A little like Disney-Christ. Then again, I still took my shoes off and stuck my feet in the water and I still was able to feel a connection to Jesus who had by all accounts found himself somewhere along the banks of that same river, sticking his feet in that same body of water.
It doesn’t have to be perfect and pure and ideal to be pilgrimage. If you move toward something with the intention of allowing yourself to be nourished and transformed by it, you understand pilgrimage. It does not need to be a designated holy site, and you do not need to walk until your feet bleed. Intention really does matter.
We have the tendency sometimes to move through each day with the goal just to get to the end of it. Especially in these heightened and uncertain times, I talk to so many people who are just trying to muddle through. I get that. I’m there too sometimes. And at the same time, I believe we are surrounded by holiness, by God’s presence in our daily life. I believe that every day has the capacity to carry each of us more deeply into the heart of the God who made us and who loves us. I don’t mean to say that this negates the difficulties in our lives – just that both can be true at the same time: That we can see God even in uncertainty and strife. And when we intentionally seek to recognize God’s presence, God’s love, God’s healing and reconciliation in our daily lives – when we walk with that kind of purpose – our daily lives are themselves transformed into pilgrimages. We are walking in love. We are not mere tourists – we are pilgrims.
My father-in-law was right, by the way. And I was wrong. He said the hike continues. And the truth was, even though the scenery had changed, I was still walking alongside this man who had become my family, still sharing conversation with him, still laughing and sighing and sweating. We weren’t just two guys without a car. We were becoming closer. We were sharing life. We were walking in love – though neither of us would have used that language in the moment. We didn’t need a car. We were being transformed by the walk. Intention matters.
